Silent Hill: Homecoming
by Ophiel
Summary: Martin Hightower left Silent Hill, and his overbearing father, ages ago. Now someone, or something, has called him back.
1. Prologue

Prologue

            Allison Shelton had run the same mail route for almost ten years. Everyday, save Sunday, she drove her small car (the local post office couldn't afford a decent truck) up and down the same route, dropping boxes, envelopes, and various other packages into the same mailboxes. She grew so used to it that she knew instinctively which packages belong to which recipient, often times without even looking at the address. Today had been no different, at least until she got to the end of her route. She'd moved an empty mail crate when she noticed a lone envelope in her floorboard. She was sure she hadn't seen it when she'd done the route, and she'd never seen the return address before. She knew the address it was going to though, so she turned her tiny car around and before long she was walking up the front walk of the envelope's destination. She reached the decrepit front door and knocked a few quick times.

            The door opened a few inches, just enough to expose the heavy chain holding it closed, and a set of pale gray eyes just beyond.

            "Oh, it's you Al." The gray-eyed man said.

            "Yeah Marty. I seem to have forgotten a piece of your mail." She said as she waved the envelope so he could see it. The door shut for a moment, then swung inward.

            Marty, or Martin Hightower, was a wreck. His clothing stank from six days without a wash and his face was covered in a month's growth of beard. He was dressed in a flannel shirt with a 'wife-beater' tank-top underneath. He wore a pair of jeans that were almost as old as he was. The knees had long ago yielded to age and worn out, leaving ragged holes. He wore a pair of boots he'd gotten from a homeless shelter years ago. He appeared to be homeless, which wasn't much of a stretch, since the one bedroom, one bath, kitchen/living/dining room area trailer was almost dilapidated enough to be condemned. The home wasn't even his, it'd been his uncle's until he died, and then Marty had inherited it.

            "Any clue why someone at…" Allison read the return address on the envelope out, "448 Midwich Street, Silent Hill, would be sending you a letter all of a sudden?" 

            Marty snatched the thin package from Allison's pudgy hand, causing her to flinch, and looked over it appraisingly.

            "You do know it's rude to snatch things away from people, don't you?" Allison said with a chuckle. She wondered what could be so important about that letter to cause such a reaction in normally lax Martin Hightower. "So who's it from?" She asked.

            "It's my mother's handwriting." He said in a quiet voice. "It's a letter from my parents, I think." He turned and walked back into his small home. "Oh, you can come in if you like." Allison hustled in close behind Marty, and he led her to the cramped dining room. He reached into a drawer and produced a small butter knife, which he used to cut the envelope open with. He emptied the contents of the envelope onto the dining room table with a soft clatter. A key had been sealed in the envelope along with the letter. He inspected the key for a moment, then unfolded the letter and read over it. Allison, not to be forgotten, spoke up.

            "What's up Marty?" She asked, noticing his change in expression. In reply Marty read the letter aloud.

            "Dearest Marty, I know it's been ages since we last spoke, and I'm terribly sorry. When you left it dealt your father a tremendous blow. He wouldn't let us call or write, no matter how often we asked. Over time he got over it though, but by that time you'd moved again, and we'd lost touch. It took almost five years for me to find you, but I finally did. We need you to come home, as soon as you get this. Your father has taken ill, and the doctors can't figure out what's wrong. They don't expect him to last the winter. Please Marty; come as soon as you get this letter. He said all he wants is to see his boy again before he dies. Love, Mom." Marty sighed and looked up at Allison.

            "Al, do you think it'd be possible to get me to a bus station tonight?" He said his eyes down in shame.

            "Sure Marty, I'll even hook you up with some money and clothes, if you'd like." She said with a pleasant smile.

            Marty chuckled nervously, "I've got clothes, but I guess I could use a little money, if you're sure you don't mind."

            "Of course I'm sure, now c'mon and get some clothes together, you can get a shower at my house if you need to. Then we'll get you to the bus station." She stood and waved him on. He went in his tiny bedroom and changed clothes, returning in a slightly better looking flannel shirt and cargo pants. He followed Allison out to her car, and they drove back to her modest house. Marty showered and changed back into his cleaner flannel shirt and cargo pants while Allison cooked a small dinner for the both of them and scrounged up some money. They ate quickly and talked little, and soon they were on the way to the nearest bus station.

            Marty bought a ticket for a one-way trip all the way back to his hometown while Allison busied herself packing a small duffel bag for him. When Marty came back with the ticket she handed him the bag and hugged him gently. "You take care of yourself now, ya hear?" She smiled.

            "I will, thank you again Al. I'll call you as soon as I get settled and let you know how things are. Drive safe." He said as the bus pulled up. He turned back and waved as the doors began to close, and then Allison was lost to the darkness of the approaching night.

            Martin made his way back and sat near the middle of the vastly under-crowded bus. He collapsed into a seat and watched trees go by as the bus sped down the lonely road. Before long he was asleep.

            Martin Hightower had begun the long trek home. Silent Hill, the place of his birth, was only a dream, or nightmare, away.__


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

            A sudden jolt woke Marty from his almost restful slumber. The bus had hit a hole in the road and bounced quite alarmingly. Marty sat, still half asleep, until he noticed the acrid smell of smoke. He shot up and looked around, noticing that the bus was completely empty. The walls had the telltale stains of fire, large black blotches where smoke had caressed them smoothly. Under the smoke stains were other stains, like rust, but less coarse. He stood and began to walk toward the driver's seat, thinking that he might've missed his stop. When he reached the front of the bus he stood agape.

            The driver was dead, or should have been.

            He had been flayed; his guts strung out and tied to the steering wheel, keeping to bus from swerving. His arms were little more than ruined strips of flesh hanging from his shoulders. Oddly enough, and to Marty's horror, the driver's legs shifted back and forth to the gas and brake pedals when either pedal was needed. The body was, in effect, still driving the bus. Marty swallowed back bile as he looked upon the wreckage of the man's face. His eyes here gouged out, and most of the flesh torn from his cheekbones, his nose was twisted and nearly broken off. His bottom jaw was gone, a raggedly torn mass of bloody muscle and artery were its replacement. His body twitched and a gurgling sound issued forth from the ragged hole where his mouth had once been.

            Marty jumped back as a stringy intestine shot forth from the man's gut and operated the mechanism for the bus's door. With a metallic scream the door slid open and revealed the inky depth of an unending abyss. Marty gazed into it, almost drawn toward the darkness. He took a heavy step toward the door, still staring into the endless night.

            Suddenly, the night was staring back at him.

            Marty retreated back along the bus's aisle, putting some distance between himself and the shape that was making its way up the steps from the door. The form wavered for a moment, and then began to take shape. It was taller than Marty, maybe seven feet tall or more, but lean. Its arms were long and thin, each ending in a hand with four fingers. Its legs were also disproportionately thin. It stood next to the bus driver as its form finished taking shape.

            Its face was nothing more than a single piece of leathery skin stretched over its skull and jawbone and stitched together in back, it had no eyes or nose. It's chin and mouth were uncovered bone, giving it the effect of a smile. Its thin body was little more than pieces of individual skin stretched over its skeletal frame and sewn together. There was an intricate design scarred into its chest made up of several concentric circles and undecipherable runes. Its skin was the color of aged leather, like that of a mummy. It seemed to be staring at Marty, and in the closeness of the bus he could hear it's hissing breath as it breathed through its teeth. 

            Marty stared on as it reached over and took the driver's ravaged head in a single massive hand and slowly crushed it like a grape. The sound made Marty gag. It sounded exactly like a skull would sound when crushed, there was an initial crack as the bones gave way and then sickening squish as the matter within was crushed. The body jumped once and then went slack, the intestines that had been steering let go and the bus swerved violently. At the same time the driver's leaden foot fell on the gas and the bus began to speed up. The figured then took a single step down the aisle toward Marty. 

It held out an arm and something slowly began to form. It started as a handle wrapped in the creatures four-fingered fist, then a long, rusty metal shaft, which terminated in a large metal ball. The ball was studded with several bloodstained spikes. It advanced toward Martin, hefting the mace back in preparation to swing. Suddenly the mace was a blur of movement, and Marty fell backward just in time to avoid it as it smashed into several seats and the wall on his right. The whole bus rocked with the force of the block, and a hole had been opened in its side. Marty crawled backward, trying to avoid the next blow.

And then the bus was airborne.

Marty could only look on in horror as beyond the figure, who was now in the process of bringing the heavy mace down on him, the headlights suddenly revealed a wall of water seconds before the windshield shattered. With a loud rush water enveloped the bus, and Marty knew nothing but it's cold touch, and then blackness.

Martin woke with a start, shaking and sweating. He glanced around in near panic, realizing he had been dreaming. The bus, though near empty, was normal once again. There was no water, no demon, and no corpse driving. He coughed a few times, still shaking from his dream. He jumped instinctively as an elderly woman casually set down beside him.

"Are you okay, sir? I saw that you were asleep, but you cried out once or twice. Was it a nightmare?" She asked, her face a picture of concern.

"Uh, yeah. You could say it was a nightmare. I'm fine, really. Thank you for asking, though." He tried to smile, but the muscles wouldn't cooperate. The lady frowned, but stood and went back to her seat. Marty stood and stretched, rubbing his eyes and yawning, when the bus stopped and the driver yelled the words he'd been dreading since Allison brought him the letter from his mother only hours ago.

"Last stop, Silent Hill!"


End file.
